


I look up and the whole room's spinning (I gotta keep, keep on breathin')

by Brain_Brainson



Series: Luther Whump [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Kinda, Moon Phases, Panic Attacks, inaccurate descriptions of panic attacks probably, luther is a sad boy, slight Ben
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 09:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20043919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brain_Brainson/pseuds/Brain_Brainson
Summary: ‘Help me,’ is what Luther wants to say but he can’t.His mouth isn’t working.





	I look up and the whole room's spinning (I gotta keep, keep on breathin')

**Author's Note:**

> I only ever had like one panic attack in my life (I think) so this probably isn't....how this works but....the ANGST, I needed the ANGST. 
> 
> (Also I am small and I wanted to write something after months of not touching google docs, so have this).

Sometimes Luther’s body betrays his mind. 

Not in the obvious way - in the way that includes broken furniture and caved in walls, the ripping sound of too tight clothing finally snapping - no, not in a way that would make sense. 

It’s more like his body is trying to trick his mind, lure it into a trap carefully laid out with sweaty hands and chills running up and down his back, hair -  _ his _ hair and the hair he _ has _ to call his but that isn’t really his own - raising, a definite sign. 

_ Danger.  _

But when his eyes move around, flit from one corner of the room to another, he can’t see any threat, nothing that would cause his heart to speed up like it is doing now, blood rushing to his limbs and yet, he can’t feel it, fingers numb. 

Briefly, his eyes linger on Allison, on her back as she makes her way out of the room. Away from him. 

Following the others, all of them leaving him alone. 

He should call out to them, run after them -  _ apologise _ , the little voice in the back of his head whispers, the one he likes to push down, as deep as possible, back into a corner with the firm reminder of ‘ _ I’m the Leader _ ’ - but he can’t move. 

He can’t move his legs, he can’t move his arms, he can’t even feel them and his heart is still rapidly beating in his chest, loud enough the blood is rushing through his ears and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t  _ breathe- _

It’s like being sucked into the atmosphere, a  _ pull _ coming from within, throwing him out into space to suffocate, to heave lungfuls of nothingness, of pure poison. 

Faintly he can hear something, some kind of crash. A blow. 

But it’s too loud, he can’t focus and he can’t breathe and there’s something cool on his cheek but he doesn’t know what and he can’t see anything, why can’t he see anything?

His face hurts but he can’t feel his limbs and he can’t see and what if he’s going blind? What if he’s dying?

What if he’s having a heart attack? Oh god, he’s having a heart attack, he’s having a heart attack and no one is helping him, he’s gonna die here all alone, everyone left him alone and he’s gonna die and his heart is beating so fast and he’s  _ choking _ , he’s choking, there’s no air, not enough air and his throat is hurting and there are grunts and he isn’t sure where they’re coming from but his body is still screaming _ DANGER _ and now his mind is believing it too.

_ ‘Please, please, I don’t wanna die alone, don’t let me die alone, don’t let me die alone- _ ** _don’tletmediealonedon’tletmediealonedon’tletmedie-’_ **

“Luther? Luther you’re having a panic attack. Luther, focus.”

A Voice.  _ Someone’s there _ . 

‘ _ Help me, _ ’ is what Luther wants to say but he can’t. His mouth isn’t working. 

“Luther, do you hear me? You need to  _ focus _ .”

‘ _ Ben? _ ’ It couldn’t be Ben. Couldn’t be. Ben’s dead. 

‘ _ Maybe he’s here to come get you. _ ’

There’s a laugh, loud and shrill and piercing the air, and Luther thinks it’s him making those sounds but he can’t be sure, can’t be sure who’s talking to him, can’t be sure of anything because he still can’t  _ see _ . 

“Luther, open your eyes. Open them, Luther.”

His eyes? His eyes are closed? 

Slowly he tries opening them, lifting his eyelids but it’s hard. They’re sticky and wet and Luther realizes that he must have been crying. Still is. 

“That’s good, Luther. Open them.”

The light is harsh and too bright and Luther fights the urge to close his eyes again, go back to the darkness. He blinks a few times and something is in the way of his left eye, something that’s pushing against his face. 

It’s gonna crawl all over his face, cover his mouth and nose until he can’t breathe anymore, gonna push inside and he’s gonna die, he’s gonna die, he’s gonna-

“You’re laying on the floor, Luther. You fell.”

_ Floor.  _

The Floor. The Floor in the living room. He’s on the floor in the living room. He’s laying on the floor in the living room and he’s having a panic attack. 

He tries to talk again, tries to push against the weight on his chest but it’s hard. It’s hard not to think he’s dying, not to give into the pinpricks of panic breaking out all over his skin and settling over his shaking hands, curling around his heart like a vice. 

But it’s only a panic attack. Only a panic attack. Panic attacks pass. 

“You know what you have to do, Luther. Use the Mantra.”

The Mantra. He should use the Mantra. Use the Mantra. 

He’s freezing and sweating at the same time, his back ice cold and shivering. But that means he’s alive. He’s alive and he won’t die and he’s having a panic attack. 

He closes his eyes again - sure this time that he won’t go blind - and he tries to focus on his breathing, tries to breathe in as deeply as possible through the nose and let it out through his mouth. 

His breathes are hiccup-y at best, hitching here and there as his body seems to stutter and his heart beats in his ears and his mouth is trembling hard enough his whole jaw is shaking, but it helps, if only a little. 

He can focus enough to actually feel something again, notice the wetness on his cheeks and the slight pain in his left arm, the one he seems to be laying on. His fingers are twitching and he can feel his short nails scratching over the hardwood floor, looking for something to hold onto. 

He wonders where the person is, if they can’t hold his hand. 

_ Ben.  _

‘ _ You don’t touch someone having a panic attack; not without a warning.’  _ It’s a thought as fast as light, there and gone again and then his mind is empty, nothing but his breathing and the dark to keep him company. 

‘ _ All alone. _ ’

‘ _ No, _ ’ Luther reminds himself. ‘ _ Not alone. _ ’

‘ _ Ben’s with me. _ ’

Ben’s always with him, Ben’s always watching over him, even on the moon. Ben won’t let anything bad happen to him, he won’t. 

‘ _ Repeat the Mantra. You have to repeat the Mantra. Repeat the Mantra. _ ’

Luther takes another deep breath. Tries to concentrate on something other than his sweaty hands. His pulse rushing through his veins. 

‘ _ New. _ ’

He can see Ben smiling in his head. Telling him to keep going. 

_ ‘Waxing Crescent.’ _

It’s hard. It’s hard to keep his thoughts in order, to not have them branch out into dangerous territory. 

‘ _ What if this isn’t only a panic attack?’ _

‘ _ What if your dying? _ ’

He pushes them aside, tries to stay on track. He can do this. He can do this. He only needs to calm down. He will calm down. 

_ ‘First Quarter.’ _

He can do this. 

_ ‘Waxing Gibbous.’ _

More. 

_ ‘Full.’ _

He’s nearly done. He can do this.  


_ ‘Waning Gibbous.’ _

_ ‘Third Quarter.’ _

Only one left. 

_ ‘Waning Crescent.’ _

He breathes out slowly once he’s done. His fingers are still twitching, but he can feel his legs again. Breathing doesn’t seem impossible anymore. 

He presses his eyes together tightly for a second. He needs to get up, but he can’t, not right now.  


“That’s it, Luther. Repeat the Mantra.”

Repeat the Mantra. He needs to repeat the Mantra. Then he’ll feel better.

Again. 

_ ‘New.’ _

_ ‘Waxing Crescent.’ _

_ ‘First Quarter.’ _

_ ‘Waxing Gibbous.’ _

_ ‘Full.’ _

_ ‘Waning Gibbous.’ _

_ ‘Third Quarter.’ _

_ ‘Waning Crescent.’ _

His shoulders relax. His jaw stops shaking violently, reduced to small tremors that seem to run all over his body. He feels like he _has_ a body again. 

The feeling of ‘ _ Danger _ ’ is still there, in the back of his mind, still has him on edge, but it’s getting smaller and smaller now, wavering ever so slightly. 

Once more. 

_ ‘New…..’ _

By the 5th time he has his eyes open again, calm enough to try and take in his surroundings. His nose is running and there’s a wet spot on the floor, his tears and snot running together where his head had been laying. 

His head hurts. That must have happened when he fell over. 

There’s someone there with him, kneeling not far from his face.  


‘ _ Ben! _ ’ His mind screams but he can make out the pattern of their clothing. Polkadot. 

“Mum?” His voice is throaty, like he just woke up. He tries raising his head but it hurts, his head pounding. 

Mum gently shushes him, one hand stretched out as if to touch. She draws it back again though, flitting out of his line of sight. 

He guesses she noticed him flinch. 

“You’re doing so well, Luther.” 

She doesn’t call him ‘sweetheart’ or ‘darling’ and his rational part tells him it’s because her programming is telling her to address him with his name. Keep him awake. 

(The little part inside of him, the one entirely led by emotions, the one that’s still a little out of breath and scared, that one’s telling him she won’t ever call him ‘sweetheart’ again. 

Not until he looks like it again).

“Luther, keep repeating the Mantra. Just a few more times.”

He sighs, a heavy, tired sigh. He wants to fall asleep right here, in the middle of the living room. But his mind still feels a little dizzy and his heart is still beating that bit too fast that worry is creeping in. Something’s off. Something’s wrong. 

But if he endorses those feelings he’ll just end up in his own head again, his body telling him things that aren’t true but that his mind believes. 

He starts with his Mantra again, this time keeping his focus on the part of Grace’s dress he can see.

It’s one of her favourite dresses, the pink one. The black dots are scattered across the fabric in a seemingly uncaring way, no real pattern or structure. Luther takes each one in, looks at it long enough he is sure he can see the little differences in them, the way some seem to not be quite as round as the first glance may make you believe. 

Eyes firmly locked on Grace’s dress, he starts again. 

_ ‘New…..’ _

* * *

Later - when he’s sitting in the kitchen, a hot cocoa in front of him and a pack of ice pressed to the left side of his face - he asks. 

“Was there…, was there someone with you?”

Grace turns from where she’s standing at the oven, twisting knobs and pushing pans like it’s second nature. Smiles at him. 

“Silly, if someone would’ve been with me, then you would’ve seen them, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, but-” 

He doesn’t know what he wants to say. Doesn’t know what he wants to hear either. 

_ ‘Was Ben there? Did you see Ben somewhere?’ _

“You were the only one talking to me?”

Grace steps forward. Puts her hand on top of his on the kitchen table. Luther’s first instinct is to pull away; she rarely ever does this, not with him.

<strike>Not since...</strike>  


“Multiple voices could further distress someone in such a state as yours. You know that, Luther.”

‘ _ We talked about this. _ ’ is hanging in the air, unspoken. 

They did, they had talked in depth about what panic attacks mean and what causes them. Had tried to get Luther’s mind to see through the traps his body sometimes laid out for him. It had gotten better since the first time, the time where he looked at himself in the mirror and couldn’t recognise what he saw there, couldn’t make out himself under all the hair and the leathery skin and- 

<strike> _ 'Monster, Monster, Monster!’ _ </strike>

But sometimes his mind still fell for the lies his body told. 

But sometimes, his mind was the one playing tricks on him. 

“I know,” he says, not looking at Grace. She takes her hand back, steps back to the oven. Starts fiddling with something there, her back to him. 

‘ _ Alone _ .’

He pushes the hot cocoa away. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please come yell at me on tumblr (b-rainlet) or in the comments.


End file.
